


Bokeh

by j_gabrielle



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bodyguard!Graves, First Time, M/M, Model!Newt, Protectiveness, This seriously got away from me, read the tags people, tw: assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:58:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9048961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: Percival fidgets in his suit and tie, scanning the crowd of arrivals spilling out of the gate. He holds up the card in his hand bearing the name 'Newton Artemis Fido Scamander' crammed onto it. Not for the first time that hour, he curses Theseus for roping him into doing this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to follow the age difference between Colin and Eddie in real life which is six years.
> 
>  _bokeh_ \- Photography Terminology; An English transliteration of a Japanese word that means “haze” or “blur.” Pronounced boh-keh, it refers to the out-of-focus areas in a photograph with limited depth of field, particularly around, but not limited to, the highlight areas. Bokeh appears as little circles in the unsharp areas. [[source](https://www.bhphotovideo.com/explora/photography/tips-and-solutions/glossary-digital-photography-terms)] [[Further Reading with Examples](https://www.bhphotovideo.com/explora/photography/tips-and-solutions/understanding-bokeh)]
> 
> Filled for this prompt on the kinkmeme: https://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/459.html?thread=1077707#cmt1077707

Percival fidgets in his suit and tie, scanning the crowd of arrivals spilling out of the gate. He holds up the card in his hand bearing the name 'Newton Artemis Fido Scamander' crammed onto it. Not for the first time that hour, he curses Theseus for roping him into doing this.

"Hey, Percy."

He starts, turning sharply. No one calls him by that name but the Scamander boys. The last time he had seen Theseus' little brother in person, he had been 18 and Newt had been 12. But while he had been away in far-flung places getting shot at with Theseus by his side, the kid had shot up and grown into this gangly creature, half-drowning in an oversized sweater with the hood pulled up that can barely look him in the eye. Percival tries for a smile, only to have him fidget and tense. Some things never change then. 

"Hey." Percival says, "C'mon, let's get you to work." Theseus had warned him. The list, 'instructions' as they were, sit heavy in his coat pocket. Newt keeps an arms' length of a distance between them as they make their way to the car.

It isn't that he wasn't prepared for this, no. Even in the hazy recollections of his mind, Percival remembers big wet eyes that observe him from afar whenever he came over to the Scamander residence, never approaching but always somewhere in the corner of his eye. He remembered finding it charming, even though Theseus had apologised for Newt in the beginning before devolving into teasing towards the end.

"Do you want me to drop your things off at the hotel while you are at the studio?" He asks, opening the rear passenger door for Newt. The man shakes his head, bangs falling over his eyes. He shoulders himself past Percival, opening the front passenger door and sliding into the seat. Percival notes this, words sitting heavy on the tip of his tongue before deciding, no. Nope. He is going to keep his mouth shut.

He all but throws Newt's suitcase into the back seat before getting into the driver's. Pulling out of the car park, he resolves that this will be the first and last time he lets Theseus talk him into doing something.

They are a scant five minutes from the shooting location when Newt finally speaks. "Can you wait for me? Can you come in with me, I mean." 

Percival considers saying no just to be petty. It is supposed to a couple of hours tops before he has to deliver him to his hotel. Theseus is going to take over in the morning. But this is, at the end of the day, Newt.The same kid who followed him around like a shadow for years, who is Theseus' little brother, the same one he promised to look out for because Theseus himself couldn't be here. So he says yes. And when he pulls into his designated spot, he climbs out and follows Newt through the door.

Theseus had, in the time of getting sand in all places unmentionable and being shot at, mentioned that Newt was scouted in a local shopping arcade for a talent agency. He had kept him updated with news of his precious little brother, of how he was being pulled onto the runways of some designer or another, of how he is the face of some brand or some sort. To all these news, he had only hummed noncommittally, more interested in the pretty young thing that is looking his way across the bar, ot grunting in sparse attention, focusing instead on not getting shot in the arse.

But waiting on a couch while everyone who was anyone move to prepare everything only to, at the end of it, be privy to the sight of Newt walking out onto the stage looking like the personification of temptation and lust itself, was something that he never could foresee or prepare for. 

Newt has his hair pushed back and styled in a high pompadour, eyes smudge with kohl in a way that draws attention and ensnares the unsuspecting. They dress him in a cape of sorts, couple with this filigree neck brace that if sense is true, probably costs more than a year's worth of Percival's army pension. The cape is open down the front and it frames Newt's lithe and... Toned body. Amazingly toned body with a six pack that could rival Percival on his best days. 

This is a complete 180 from the man he picked up from the airport as a favour for his brother. This Newt looks straight at people, his body language exuding quiet confidence and utter assurance. Logically, he knows that this is by far the tamest assignment Newt has been on. He still remembers the time when Mrs Scamander had told Theseus about the nude campaign Newt did that left his best friend livid and upset for the next two weeks before he can be on the next flight out home. Percival wonders if those pictures still exist somewhere.

Newt is propped onto a chair, body falling into his poses without being told. The photographer begins to take his photographs, pausing only to fix the lighting or to give further instructions of what he wants to see. At one point, Newt languidly parts his thighs, hands gripping the arms of the chair, head tilting low, smouldering. He stares deep into the lens of the camera as if daring it to take him, to ravage him if it would only be so bold. It is a look of challenge and a promise thread into one. And it takes all of Percival to remember how to cross his legs.

The light picks up on the gold on the cape, the gold on the skin tight pants Newt is wearing and the way his red spit slick lips glisten. Percival is hypnotised, magnetised. He finds himself growing irrationally jealous of the people who retouch his makeup and hair, the ones who brought him water, the ones who made it their business to put his hands on him.

It is the cold douse of who Newt is to him that he has to look away. Shaking his head, he grits his teeth. No! This is a betrayal of Theseus' trust of him. He knows damn well how his best friend can be when it comes to his precious little brother. Percival might be as good as blood to Theseus, but even he knows that that means little when it comes to affairs like this.

Under the focus of the lights, Newt arches his body, lips parted in a sham of a prayer. 

No, he must not let this grow into something it cannot be. Newt probably sees him like a big brother, and this is after all the first time he has seen him in over ten years.  Whatever fascination, whatever kind of infatuation this is, he has with Newt must remain firmly rooted in the realm of friendship and brotherhood.

Newt finishes soon after that. Percival catches his eyes scanning the shadows for him, and his heart leaps a little. But the moment Newt catches his eye, he ducks his head away, allowing himself to be led to the changing rooms. 

 Just as he turns his head, the light haloing his hair, highlighting the blush high on his cheek. Immediately Percival is thrown back to a picture he once saw of Newt in a magazine. One of his exes liked to imagine that she could've made it as a model despite being five years past the shelf life and four stones too heavy. But she had these magazines that were her Bible, and she never missed a copy. Newt was the face of a fragrance or something, and the photo they chose for the print ad was his side profile with his freckles a kaleidoscope of undefinable mysteries bare and unhidden in black and white. It was a simple picture, but the vertigo of recollection sends him reeling and breathless.

He had been struck dumb then, as he is now. But the luxury of it is that now, he is right next to the living breathing being.

He shakes off the reverie, looking around to see that everyone is starting to pack up and leave. But no sight of Newt. Frowning, Percival gets to his feet, making his way to the changing rooms, wondering why in the hell did Queenie Kowalski just had to take today out of all the days as an off day. As he approaches, he hears Newt in distress. 

"What the - "

Is all he allows the photographer before he punches him and bodily throws him off Newt. "Okay?" Percival asks, holding out a hand that Newt takes. He quickly assesses him for any visible injuries or trauma. None. He pulls Newt behind him, glaring at the photographer before he backs them both out. "Did you leave anything back there?" He says when they push past some of the wardrobe ladies and sprint right for the door. 

"No, everything I own is in that suitcase in the car." Percival nods, holding him close to his body, silently cursing. Newt is trembling, face pale and pinched.

"We're going to need to report this to the police. Make a formal complaint-"

"No." 

Percival starts to a pause in the middle of bundling Newt into the car. "But-"

"No." Newt digs his fingers into the flesh of Percival's arm, face turned away. "No, Percy. Please."

Gentling his tone, he ducks to cup Newt's cheek. Not to turn him to catch his eyes, but to anchor him. "Newt, this isn't the first time. Isn't it?"

If Newt knows that he is leaning into the touch, he does not show it. "It's why Theseus insists on being on set every single time." Percival bites the inside of his cheek. To think that he had contemplated leaving him here alone.

"I'll need to tell Theseus about this." He says, and Newt nods before pulling away to buckle his seatbelt.

Percival allows himself a good thirty seconds to rein himself in from going back in and utilising every ounce of military training he has in disposing of the scum that laid their hands on Newt. When he climbs into the driver's seat, he is calm and collected once more. Theseus is going to be hearing about this, and he looks forward to the high probability that the man, if he knows him at all, would be planning nothing short of a hit that he will be a part of.


End file.
